Humans aren’t the only babies on the market, you know! Not that I’m saying you should put babies on the market at all. It’s unethical and could land you in a lot of trouble — no matter if you’re the one initiating the transfer or the one completing it. You don’t need upstanding citizen justice machine Batman to tell you that stealing, buying, or selling babies is not cool. So please, please don’t.
But babies — human and otherwise — come in all shapes and sizes. Wicket and Pixie, while not technically babies (or puppies, in their parlance) anymore, still depend on us to do some things for them. Wicket, for instance, was just griping the other day that he couldn’t check his email, so I helped him out. Pixie, on the other hand (or paw, in their parlance), was unable to open a can of tuna that she needed for the sandwich she was making. Diana and I don’t mind pitching in an opposable thumb here or there when the occasion calls for it; that’s life in the big city (or big house, which I don’t mean as a euphemism for prison in this scenario). But if we were to live in a pack in the wilderness with Wicket and Pixie, we’d be their babies. They’d help us catch antelope for dinner and sniff out where the good territory hasn’t already been claimed. A functioning family is all about teamwork, and the roles can change to suit the situation.
Diana and I also call each other “baby” from time to time as a term of affection, but this doesn’t mean that any diapers need to get changed or any bottles need to be warmed up (not that there’s anything wrong with that if it’s your particular “thing” you do with your baby. We don’t judge).
“Who’s your daddy?” is overused. Instead, let’s ask this: “Who’s your baby?”